Hearthstories
by TheFireFlyGrave
Summary: Hearthstories is a series of tales set in the Warcraft universe as filtered through the game-play of the online CCG Hearthstone; Heroes of Warcraft. These stories are mostly humorous and highlight the absurdity of placing the action of a card game into a narrative format. All stories were originally posted in the Youtube comments section of the popular Hearthstone streamer Trump.
1. The Tale of Baanocchio

The Tale of Baanocchio

Hearthstory #1

Baanocchio the mechanical sheep was terribly mistreated by his masters. 'Run yourself into that tank, Baaanochio!' They'd say, or 'stand right there so I can fireblast you!' Baanocchio was used to it, but every night he'd wish upon a Wisp that one day he'd transform into a real sheep. 'Poly will be my name' he said to himself.

And on one particularly cold December night, Baanocchio dreamed that a Sea Giant came into his room (he knew it was a dream for surely no Giant could fit through the window, unless there were, like, 9 other creatures about) and spoke to him. 'Baanocchio, the Wonderful Wizard of Value Town is watching you.' The giant said 'He says that if you're a good sheep and if you do your best and tell no lies, he shall turn you into a real sheep!'

Baanocchio heeded the Sea Giant's words and from thence on charged headlong into the most vicious monsters, destroying himself painfully and repeatedly only to be rebuilt again. He never complained and spoke only the truth, knowing that one day his wish would come true.

And on a warm Spring day, The Wonderful Wizard payed a visit to Baanocchio's humble abode. 'I hear that you've been a good sheep' Trump intoned.

'I have.' Baanocchio replied 'At least I think I have. As you can see, my nose hasn't grown, which is the punishment for lying after all.'

'So you received my message?' Trump continued, smiling ear to ear. 'My message promising that I'd turn you into a real sheep.'

'Yes. Yes.' Baanocchio said, barely able to contain his excitement. 'So is that why you're here? Are you here to turn me into a real sheep at last?'

'But of course it is.' Trump said. 'I always save my most powerful spells to make wishes come true.'

'Oh good, that's-' But suddenly Baanocchio's words died in his throat. For as he looked at Trump's grinning face he knew his wish would not come true, for it was the Wizard's own nose that was growing.

All Hearthstories were originally published in the Youtube comments section for the popular Hearthstone stream Trump.

The original video this story drew it's inspiration from can be seen through the link below:

Hearthstone: Trump Cards - 183 - Part 2: He Dreamt of Becoming a Real Sheep (Mage Arena)

watch?v=pIhb1Am9r_Q


	2. Value Value Value

2 'Value. Value. Value.'

 **This story is based upon and originally posted below the following YouTube video;**

 **Hearthstone: Mechanized Nature Will Rise against You (Druid Constructed)**

 **watch?v=2fJxSNdOWAM**

The word rattled around in the beast's head. It knew not what the word meant, but it had heard it spoken before, often in reference to itself by the powerful heroes of the land. The beast had grown to regard itself with pride when hearing 'value' spoken aloud, for it seemed to indicate how well the heroes valued his strength and fighting spirit. But now hearing the word 'value' filled him with dread. But why?

The beast's eyes opened. It was lying on a stone slab in an unfamiliar room with a high ceiling open to the night sky. All around, squat creatures clanked about, staring at mechanical dials and adjusting switches. The words they spoke added to the beast's confusion; phrases like 'operation successful,' 'all indicators positive,' and 'powering up; portals online.'

The beast tried to rise, but found he was strapped to the slab and much of his strength was gone. He howled in frustration, drawing the gaze of the mechanical creatures, who regarded him coolly. He glanced about, noticing that something was attached to his head as well; a helmet of some kind. He had never worn anything on his head the way so many weaker creatures did, and he began to wonder how a helmet could fit around his mighty horns?

But his thoughts were distracted when he noticed a series of cords that moved each time he moved his head; apparently attached to the helmet. His gaze followed the cords and he let out a gasp. For they ran from his helmet to that of another creature, about his size and lying on an identical stone slab.

The other creature sat up and turned it's head to look at him. It's orange hide gleamed metallic and electricity crackled between it's cast-iron horns. 'Value. Value. Value.' It said robotically though it's mouth didn't even move.

The beast shrieked in confusion and began to thrash against it's restraints. The small robots looked at each other hesitantly while the orange monster simply droned on; 'Value. Value. Value.'

From behind a large instrument panel emerged another figure; drawing the gaze of the robots and even causing the orange monster to snap to silent attention. The beast recognized this figure and his heart rose; it was the Wonderful Wizard of Valuetown! The beast had fought on the side of the wizard in many battles and more often than not, they had been victorious.

The Wizard looked down on the yeti (for a yeti it was) passively and benevolently. He read hope in the beast's small blue eyes.

Then the Wizard spoke; 'Rest in peace, normal yeti. Your mechanized self is superior.'


	3. Who's Mad Now?

3 Who's mad now?

 **This story is based upon and originally posted below the following YouTube video;**

 **Hearthstone: Decisive Brawl (Warlock Constructed)**

 **watch?v=w7DOnG9zK4Y**

My shield for Argus!' Varuk said as he approached the battle lines. A large blue drake turned to face him. Varuk offered the creature a shield.

'Or should I say, our shields for Argus.' Varuk said with a smile. The drake blinked at him quizzically but took the shield in one of it's claws. Varuk turned to see an infernal approach, it's rocky visage illuminated by hell-fire.

'Give me one o' them shields.' The demon said. Varuk barely had time to unstrap the shield from his back before it was snatched away.

'There you are.' Varuk said. 'Now we are ready to strike.'

'Nice face, you freak.' The infernal said. Varuk winced but chose not to talk back, he had bigger things to worry about. For across the battlefield they faced a Hellscream family reunion.

'Garrosh and Grom' he thought 'and Garrosh is wearing so much armor it might take a mountain-giant sized can-opener just to hurt him.' Grom, on the other hand, didn't look as scary as the tales he'd heard. All the stories said Grom was a tinderbox of rage, but this orc looked positively calm. Fortunately, with Jaraxxus behind them, they could rely on a steady supply of homicidal demons to follow, so all they'd need to do is hold the line and keep the Hellscreams occupied.

'ADVANCE!' Came the voice of their leader. The three of them did as they were told.

'Stay in formathon.' Varuk said as he marched forward. 'Don't let them break through.'

The drake hissed at him and sped into a trot, breaking up their defensive line. 'Just stay out of my way!' The infernal said and gave Varuk a shove, knocking him off balance.

What was wrong with them? All they had to do was execute a basic advance and they should have the edge. He quickened his pace to keep up with his unruly allies and suddenly caught sight of Garrosh, who was smiling down on them from his perch atop a hill. The intensity in the great warchief's eyes was terrifying. It was a look that demanded battle and blood.

'I told you to stay in formation!' Varuk screamed and cuffed the drake with his mail fist as he caught up. The monster screeched and swung it's tail at Varuk to retaliate. Varuk had anticipated this. He jumped over the attack, causing the beast's tail to come crashing into the back of the infernal's legs.

The demon bellowed and fell to it's knees. 'Serves them both right.' Varuk thought. 'Now maybe we can get back to the plan.' But the infernal was quick to respond, charging at Varuk with murder in it's eyes.

What followed was a chaotic brawl. 'How had this happened?' Varuk wondered as he clung to the drake's back and stabbed it in the neck with his knife. 'What the hell are we doing?'

Varuk noticed that Grom had joined the melee. Leaping to and fro, dodging attacks and striking here and there with his battleaxe. The legendarily angry orc was fighting more calmly than any of them.

Suddenly Varuk found himself flung from the drake and looked up just in time to see the infernal tumbling toward him. He couldn't force himself to move fast enough and suddenly he found his legs crushed under two tons of demon.

'This is it.' He thought 'I'm going to die.'

'NOT GOOD!' Jaraxxus said as he watched the brawl end. 'MORE INFERNALS! HURRY!'

'That was relaxing.' Grom said. 'Usually this sort of thing gets my blood boiling. But I ain't even mad. Shall we finish it son?'

'Yeah, dad.' Grommash said and clapped his hand on his father's shoulder.

From well behind the action, a man in a pointy hat slowly crept away from the battlefield. The Wonderful Wizard of Valuetown had been worried that Jaraxxus was going to steal the glory of a victory he had engineered, but now he was only too happy to let the demon lord get what was coming to him.


	4. The 11 Machine

4 The 1/1 Machine

 **This story is based upon and originally posted below the following YouTube video;**

 **Hearthstone: Trump Cards - 187 - Part 2: Trump Will Serve (Paladin Arena)**

 **watch?v=kGy4e5YjpHg**

Lilac hated her job. When she'd signed on with the Truesilver Corporation, she'd been told that her position would be 'head instructor' and her job would be 'to instruct new recruits with the information they'd need to protect themselves in combat situations.' This is what she'd wanted; she trained as an teacher and had degrees in education and sorcery. She also liked ordering people around so the position seemed ideal. As it turned out, however, Lilac's job was to stand next to a conveyor belt with a clipboard in her hand.

'Reporting for duty' a fresh-eyed recruit said as the conveyor belt brought him next to her.

'Take a mace, a helm and a cape and jump in the wagon.' She said, and ticked a 'Silver Hand Recruit' box on her paperwork.

'Reporting for duty' the next recruit in line said with identical enthusiasm.

'Take a mace, a helm and a cape and jump in the wagon.' She said again, for perhaps the 20,000th time that week.

'I'm ready to learn.' The next man in line said.

'Grab a cloak and a spear and get in the wagon.' She said.

'I shall do as you say.' He replied and bowed slightly as he grabbed his gear. There was a time when such reverence pulled at her heartstrings, but after seeing 'The Value Machine' spit out so many near-identical faces she'd grown numb.

Lilac had learned to deal with the monotony. She'd learned to deal with knowing that most of the faces she saw had the life expectancy of a mosquito. She'd learned to deal with the occasional oddball on the assembly line, be it an imp ('hose yourself off and then jump in the demon pit') or spectral spider (grab a broom, sweep it into a cage for transport.) She'd learned to deal with the rattle-rattle-clank of The Value Machine as it churned out one anonymous conscript after another. She'd even learned to deal with the zombie 'operator' whose only job was to push 'the button' over and over again and said 'dah.'

Lilac glanced up at the banner which hung over the factory floor; 'We Make Guys,' it read. She signed, there was only one part of this job that she couldn't deal with.

'Hey baby, what's sappenin?' Came a loud voice from behind her. She cringed, but summoned up a polite reply for the son of a legendary figure.

'Hello, Mr. Boom. Come to visit the factory floor?'

'C'mon babe, Mr. Boom is my dad, or at least before he got his doctorate. Call me Branden.'

'Very well, Bran-'

'And I'm hear to bestow upon you the honor of coming to lunch with me. We could go across the street, I can get us a private room. We can have a little peace and quiet, grab some chow...'

'Dah?' The zombie inquired, looking up from the button.

'Not you.' Lilac said, and then to a recruit 'Take a mace, a helm and a cape and jump in the wagon.'

'So what'dya say girl?' Branden Boom said 'You want to come to lunch and hear about how I'm gonna wreck all those handlocks that are so popular. I'm gonna be in demand soon; big-time!'

'Look, Mr... Branden.' She said ('Grab a cloak and a spear and get in the wagon.') 'I'd love to but we've got a big stock to get through today and I'm not even sure I'm going to get a lunch break, maybe next time.'

'Ok I get it. Don't have time. Whatever. Branden Boom ain't got time for career women anyway. I gotta blow. Ciao.'

'Dah?' The zombie said again, looking up from it's work and glancing back-and-forth between Lilac and Branden. He was sure they were talking about him, but now the goblin was walking away and Lilac was running to corral a spider that had made a break for the restroom. Why would they say his name and then leave? Nobody ever said his name. His job was to push the button, over and over at the same speed. That was very important, pushing the button, he really wasn't supposed to think about anything else. What had he been thinking about? Oh yes, someone had said his name, but who?

The zombie became vaguely aware that someone was shouting and that the shouting was getting closer. He tried to listen but the machine was getting louder so he couldn't hear. He recognized the voice from somewhere, it was someone who liked him and that made him smile.

'Stop pushing the button!' The voice screamed. Why would someone say that? Not pushing the button made no sense. The zombie looked up and came face-to-face with his good friend The Wonderful Wizard of Valuetown.

'Dah.' The zombie said and complied.

'It's too late now.' The Wizard said as he glanced over at the machine, which had ground to a halt. 'My beautiful machine! No. Not like this. Where's the instructor in charge?'

Lilac emerged from the restroom, soaking wet and carrying a wriggling arachnid under her arm. 'What happened?' She asked as she saw that the machine had stopped and that half-a-dozen recruits were wandering around aimlessly, occasionally calling 'to battle.'

'You left your post.' The Wizard said. 'And someone distracted Chow. He's not supposed to think.'

'Dah.' The zombie said, nodding.

'Am I... fired?' Lilac asked.

'Hmmm...' The wizard considered. 'On the one hand, you've been a valuable member of the company, but on the other hand, this screw-up is going to cost a lot. What do you say Chow? Should I fire her?'

Chow paused just a second before responding. 'Nah.'

'Congratulations.' The wizard said. 'Chow's endorsement is good enough for me. But I'll expect you to put in extra hours to get the machine repaired.'

'Yes sir.' Lilac replied. This might mean more work, but repairing the machine would at least be more interesting than running it


	5. The Chosen Ones

5\. The Chosen Ones

 **This story is based upon and originally posted below the following YouTube video;**

 **Hearthstone: Trump Cards - 188 - Part 2: Trump Shrinks Stuff (Priest Arena)**

 **watch?v=3fjz9xOUxuE**

'Clear out of the way, ya scurvy dogs! I'm hear to see the Wizard!' Salty Pete announced as he strode into room.

A host of diverse creatures looked up at him, most bearing puzzled expressions. 'Um, we're here to see The Wizard too.' A cocky gnome said as he flipped a knife in the air. 'You'll have to wait your turn just like everyone else.'

'Here, take a number' a uniformed cleric said as she offered him the end from a roll of tickets.

When Pete saw his number, he tried to suppress his annoyance but this was against his nature 'Eighty-three!?' He moaned. 'I'm going to be here all day!'

'You could always leave' said a surly elf with an injured arm. Pete was going to talk back to him, but seconds later a voice over the intercom called for 'number twenty-two' and the elf quickly exited through the double doors at the other side of the office.

Pete slumped in a chair, but resolved to stay as long as it took. After all, it wasn't every day you got to meet The Wonderful Wizard of Valuetown. Pete glanced around at the other creatures in line; some clerics, a yeti, a few gnomes, several human warriors and even a couple robots. Many bore injuries but almost all looked excited. Pete realized why when the angry elf re-emerged after a few minutes.

'That magic may well save me.' The elf said. His injury had been cured and he was beaming with an inner light. He looked stronger, healthier and more confident; almost like he could win an arena game single-handed. Pete was so astonished he completely forgot about taunting the elf the way he'd been planning.

As the afternoon dragged on, Pete grew evermore impressed as he saw one creature after another emerge with injuries healed and a new-found sense of purpose. As Pete watched, a group of empowered clerics had formed a little clutch in one corner where they were quietly chanting and had even recruited the yeti to join in;

We are the chosen ones  
Our health is great  
Velen guides us  
We shall overcome all obstacles  
Even three flamestrikes

At the word 'flamestrike' the Yeti became quite agitated and glanced around with a fearful expression. The clerics who had brought him into the circle worked to calm him; 'no, no flamestrike here. No flamestrike.'

Pete tried to distract himself from the wait by reading the supplied copy of the latest 'Value' magazine, but you can only look at so many pictures of piloted mechs or read so many interviews with Dr. Boom before you can't even pay attention any more. The next hour and a half was interminable, but at long last Pete's number was called.

Pete strode through the doors with the swagger befitting an infamous pirate. He didn't even hesitate when he saw the legendary Wizard chatting with a red-haired gnome in a labcoat. 'Chosen one, reporting for duty Cap'n' he said with his chin held high. He even saluted.

Had Pete been less concerned with making an impressive entrance, he might have noticed the gnome say 'with your permission sir, I'd like to try something a leetle bit different.'

'Bring it on.' Pete said, ad

dressing The Wizard 'Let's get salty!'

The gnome pointed a strange mechanical device in his direction. A beam of energy leapt from the device. It didn't hurt (well, maybe a little) but the effect was strange. He'd expected to feel bigger and stronger but it appeared that the gnome and wizard were actually getting bigger. In fact it looked like the whole room was expanding.

'What, what have you done to me?' Pete squeaked.

'Science worked.' The Wizard said, impressed and turned to shake the gnome's hand.

'What? How dare you!' Pete wailed as he realized what had happened. 'You... you'll hear from my lawyer!'

And with that, Pete stormed out of the office, past the smug faces in the waiting room, past the prying eyes on on the street, past his fellow pirates aboard The Salty Harlot to his bunk where he glared at his own reflection in the mirror.

'You don't even have a lawyer!' He bellowed at his image. 'And you just threatened the Wonderful Wizard who's probably the only person who can...'

Pete stopped himself as the mirror revealed familiar proportions; the magic had already worn off.

'Oh.' He intoned inaudibly, taking stock of the situation.

'Who needs to be "the chosen one" anyway?' he said, addressing his reflection. 'Salty Pete, I choose you.'


	6. The Brute Squad

6\. The Brute Squad

**This story is based upon and originally posted below the following YouTube video;**

 **Hearthstone: Trump Cards - 189 - Part 2: Time to Get Krushed (Hunter Arena)**

 **watch?v=4XqZ1V_pHzU**

Lar watched the Sky Golem with minimal comprehension; just something else to fight. But as the Golem circled towards him, he noticed the sigil emblazoned on its wings; that of a chocolate chip cookie on a light blue background. He smiled, both at the thought of cookies and that this meant help had arrived.

The machine landed next to Lar and the cockpit popped open to reveal a small robot with a prim attitude and an alloy mustache. 'Good day to you sir.' The robot said. 'I am Jeeves. I have come on Behalf of The Wonderful Wizard of Valuetown. Reports indicate that you've been suffering some losses and could use reinforcements. So I've come to deliver just that.'

Jeeves handed Lar a large, red, roughly gun-shaped object. 'This,' Jeeves said 'is a Summoning Portal Gun.' Lar stared at him blankly.

'This gun serves too functions, firing it once creates a portal through which reinforcements can arrive. The reinforcements will be somewhat random and it can't be guaranteed that anything helpful will come through, but from what I've heard of your situation I doubt you'll be too choosy.'

Lar's expression of incomprehension didn't change. Jeeves continued; 'but it's the other bit that's really clever. Firing the gun a second time will create a second portal that will be linked to the first across space-time. You'll be able to step through one portal and out the other. Should be the perfect thing for flanking maneuvers, quick escapes, that sort of thing.'

Lar squinted, thinking. 'I have a question' he said.

'I'm sorry, I don't answer questions anymore.' Jeeves said. 'You could try or, if you're serious, Google.'

And with that, Jeeves closed the cockpit and fired up the Golem's engines, content that he'd done his job.

Lar pondered the situation and, after some forty-five minutes, decided that he had a gun and that he'd like to see what happened if he shot something with it. He took aim at a large rock and pulled the trigger. The resulting hole was large but came with only a light thunk (instead of the loud bang he'd hoped for) and no explosion whatsoever. Lar approached the hole to inspect his handiwork.

The opening in the rock was deep, much more so than he expected. He went to peer inside when something came out of the hole and bonked him on the head. 'Ow' he cried, and rubbed his forehead. When he looked for the source of the bump he saw another ogre, not much unlike himself, also rubbing his forehead.

'What you hit me in the head for?' The other ogre complained.

'I not hit you in head, you hit me.' Lar said, and then suddenly thought 'Wait, you come to help fight?'

'Sure,' the other ogre said 'Me Cur.'

'You Cur, me Lar.' Lar said. They shook heads in the traditional ogre way, which is to say, they butted heads.

'And me Mo' said another ogre's voice. And with that, Mo stormed through the portal and pushed Cur, causing him to lose his balance and smack Lar upside the head.

'And what's the big idea shooting a hole in our house' Mo continued. 'You got ooze for brains.'

Lar rubbed the side of his face. 'Me Lar.' He said. 'I use gun to bring help. Will you help?'

'Oh, a gun eh? Trying to kill me eh?'Moe said and swiped the Summoning Portal Gun away. 'Well let's see how you like it. Take this!'

Moe fired a shot of temporal energy at Lar, which bounced off his stomach onto the ground. 'Stupid thing's defective.' Moe said.

'I don't know. Seem like strong gun.' Cur said and went to inspect the hole in the ground.

'Oh, you like that do you?' Mo said and kicked Cur down the hole. Within a second though, Cur had emerged from the original hole in the rock, feet forward and slammed into Mo from behind, effectively drop-kicking him.

What followed was a series of stooge-level antics that won't be described in full, but needless to say that ears were pulled, eyes were poked and Mo gleefully cannon-balled down a portal more than once.

The hijinks were interrupted with the arrival of the enemy force; a hodge-podge of powerful creatures led by a literal holy cow in plate armor wearing one of King Krush's teeth on a string around her neck.

'Kicking ass is my shield.' She said and pointed an intimidating finger toward ogres 'That's the last of them. Attack!'

'What we do?' Lar asked.

'We run, er, surrender.' Mo said.

'Use the gun. Use the gun.' Cur said. Mo complied, too frightened to do much else.

The bolt of energy sailed past the attackers, striking the charred remains of a T-Rex and, with no other portal currently open, created a vortex to a random location.

'Gun no good.' Lar said.

'Run.' Mo screamed. They did so, but somehow all ran in different directions such that they slammed into each other and fell down. An elemental among the enemy laughed at them icily.

'We need help.' Lar howled. 'Someone help.'

And with that help arrived. For from the portal emerged that Prince of Pigs, that Chieftain of Charge; Huffer! And the enemy host was so busy laughing and taunting that they didn't even notice, which was bad news for a haughty goblin who was bowing toward the ogres in mock formality and wound up taking the horns right in his booty bay.

'Yow!' He screamed and took off running as fast as he could.

The ogres cheered. 'Oh, a piggie!' Cur said. 'Here piggie, piggie!

Huffer turned and charged toward the ogres. 'Don't call him over here you idiot' Mo said.

Lar, thinking fast for the first time in his life, grabbed the gun and shot the ground in front of Huffer, who immediately fell through the created hole and disappeared.

'Well, that was excited' said the holy cow. 'But if that's the extent of your tricks...'

Which of course it wasn't. For once again Huffer charged through the portal in King Krush's Korpse, this time with extra momentum. So when he crashed into their line a second time, the shock was simply too great for most of the host and they broke and fled. Only the holy cow stayed to fight, grappling with Huffer while relying on her armor to protect against his horns.

'Piggie's in trouble!' Cur said as the cow (who's name was Sylvia, by the way) got Huffer in a headlock. 'Let's help him.'

Sylvia saw the ogres coming from the corner of her eye and gritted her teeth. She threw Huffer aside and fled. 'Sometimes discretion is my shield' She called. 'Also, Huck Fuffer!'

'Yay! We won!' Lar said.

'High five!' Cur replied. And the two ogres slapped their hands together, or would have had Mo's head not been in between them.

'You idiots!' Mo said.

Huffer watched the resulting stoogerey passively. He was exhausted from the battle and didn't know where he was, but there was something comforting about watching the ogres poke and shove each other. Would they serve as his masters, at least until he found Rexxar? He'd never had a master that he was smarter than. Either way he'd gladly fight at their side.


	7. A Very Special Episode of Hoarders

7\. A Very Special Episode of Hoarders

 **This story is based upon and originally posted below the following YouTube video;**

 **Hearthstone: Trump Cards - 192 - A Poisonous Game... Again (Rogue Arena)**

 **all_comments?v=6HlTboTyGWA**

The house looked like nothing special from the road. A bit secluded, perhaps; well-concealed from prying eyes, but nothing to suggest it housed a hoarder that Albert Lord's producers described as 'a doozy.' So when he knocked on the door he didn't know what to expect, but he certainly didn't expect a lovely blood-elf in a bright crimson bathrobe.

'Hello. I am Albert Lord' He said and bowed slightly 'You must be Valeera. It's a pleasure to meet you.'

'The pleasure is mine.' Valeera answered in a way that made Albert feel uneasy. 'But I thought you'd have a camera with you...'

'Oh that's comes later.' Albert said. 'We've got to do some ground-work first. It's just me and Frank my production man for now.' Albert motioned behind to the grinning goblin behind him.

'Very well then.' Valeera said. 'I suppose you'll want a tour.'

'Lead on.' He said.

Albert pulled out his pen and clipboard and took notes as they walked. The house certainly was cluttered; there were old daggers lying about, a dilapidated robot in one corner (Valeera insisted it was an antique,) a collection of old magazines and papers all over her desk (including what appeared to be a ransom note for a spectral knight) and even a broken-down GMC 'Max Force' SUV in the garage. But there was nothing to suggest this would make for a quality 'eye-opening' episode as had been suggested. Most of his subjects had 'rolled need' so many times you could barely see the floor.

Albert glanced at his watch then turned to Valeera. 'It was very nice to meet you and to see your home. We'll let you know in advance should we choose to come back to film an episode. Farewe-'

'Oh, but you haven't even seen the closet yet.' Valeera said. 'It'll only take a minute. Here, come on.'

Valeera led him to the back of the house to a set of cast-iron double doors fitted with several locking mechanisms. 'What do you keep in there?' Albert asked as Valeera produced one key after another.

'Oh, you'll see' Valeera said playfully.

Albert gasped as the doors finally swung open. He was taken back to his gladiator days, before he earned the celebrity that landed him a reality-TV gig. For it felt like when the gates opened and his veins filled with the excitement and terror associated with facing death. For the walk-in closet was packed to overflowing with all varieties of poison.

'Dead God.' He whispered. He was no expert in poisons, but he recognized enough to let him know that what was in this room could kill him thousands of times over.

'Did someone say bomb?' Frank said as he rounded the corned, twirling a stick of dynamite.

'What? No! No one said bomb Frank.' Albert said hastily. That been his tech-man's catch phrase ever since they'd used explosives to dislodge a massive pile of spare parts during one particularly memorable episode.

'Whoa! That's awesome!' Frank said and then turned to Valeera (who was beaming) 'Is that that I think it is.'

'Take a closer look and find out.' She said.

'Wait. Wait.' Albert said. His mind was spinning from the dangers and opportunities involved. This could be the greatest episode yet, but he could also die. 'Maybe we should call Poison Control first. Oh, but they might just confiscate everything.'

'We couldn't have that!' Valeera said, suddenly alarmed.

'Ok. Ok. Let me think.' Albert said. 'We'll need some protective gear. Frank, what do we have that might- Frank, don't touch anything!'

Frank was picking up one vial to examine after another. 'Put those back Frank. We have to find out how to do this safely.'

'Oh, come on, man. I'm being careful.' Frank said, not even turning towards his boss.

'Put them back!' Albert shouted, now more animated by Frank's insolence than the danger as he grabbed at the vial in Frank's hand.

'Hey leggo!' Frank cried. They struggled. Albert was a bit stronger than the goblin but both were cognizant of the danger so neither pulled very hard, though pride kept either from letting go. Albert could hear Valeera laughing behind him.

''Ok Frank, look.' Albert said, summoning his 'reasonable' voice. 'I'll let go if you agree to put the vial back on the shelf.'

'All right, all right.' Frank said.

Albert let go and Frank replaced the poison.

'Ok, then.' Albert said and sighed in relief. 'How about we start by making a list of everything here. Then we'll know what we're dealing with at least.'

Albert went to retrieve his pen and clipboard from where he'd left them on the ground. But as he stood up he jostled one of the poison racks; not much, but just enough. He looked up just in time to see a small silver vial topple towards him. He reacted instantly, moving to shield his head. The vial broke upon clipboard, pen and hands.

'Water. Water.' He cried. 'Something to wash this off!'

He glanced at his hands. There was no pain. No bubbling or oozing or threat of immediate death, just a light coating of silver oil. 'What, what is this?'

'Oh, I'd forgotten about that.' Valeera said. 'That's just Tinker's Sharpsword Oil. You know how many times I thought about bringing that stuff on a raid but never quite got around to it. Don't worry, it's not deadly to get some on yourself.'

'Oh that's good.' Albert said. He stared at his pen and clipboard, which appeared unaffected, then went to write 'Tinker's Sharpsword Oil' and found his pen passing through paper and wood like it were butter.

'Holy crap!' He exclaimed. 'That stuff made this pen more powerful than a... than a...'

'A bomb?' Frank offered.

'I was going to say "Sword" but that works too.'


	8. Invasion of the Body Swipers

8\. Invasion of the Body Swipers

**This story is based upon and originally posted below the following YouTube video;**

 **Hearthstone: Six Feet Under (Druid Constructed)**

 **watch?v=pHJ9Qz_lV2o**

'Bring out your dead.' The call echoed through the streets and alleyways as David made his way through the city. All those undertakers unnerved him. There wasn't even a plague in the area and yet somehow they were out every night with that same disturbing echo.

'Bring out your dead.' The call came again. David shivered as he ducked down a side street. The street sign was rusted but unmistakable; Value Ave. 'Soon.' He thought to himself. 'Soon I will have answers.'

David passed one dilapidated house after another; they looked indistinguishable in the darkness. He stopped and looked back the way he'd come. Had he missed the marker?

He was so intent that he hadn't noticed the small figure hunched beside a wall until it spoke. 'Let me tell you a story.' The voice was high-pitched yet somehow ominous. David's nerves held, however and he neither flinched nor fled.

'You'll like this story.' The figure said again and raised it's head. It was an older gnome with dirty but stylish facial hair. 'It's about cobras that hiss like horns, lions with silent roars and bombs that bluff... oh, and snakes that fly like knives!'

David saw a glint of steel and suddenly the gnome held a knife. David took a step back in alarm but the gnome merely tossed the knife straight up in the air before catching it again. 'Would you like to hear that story?' The gnome asked and grinned.

'I'm sorry. I have to go.' David said and hurried away.

A month ago such an episode would have disturbed him greatly, but things had gotten so odd that it merely strengthened his resolve. He checked every door along the street, looking for the sign, but it wasn't until the very last door that he noticed it; a faded but unmistakable picture of a chocolate-chip cookie on a light-blue background.

David knocked and waited. Almost 90 seconds later, the door opened and a voice bade him 'come in... quickly now.'

'Greetings to you.' David said. 'I am David of the Claw. And I assume you are The Wonderful Wizard of Valuetown?'

'Yes.' The cloaked figure said. 'Close the door and make yourself at home.'

'Where shall I sit?' David asked and The Wizard beckoned him towards a pair of chairs by a small fireplace.

'Why have you come?' The Wizard asked when both had settled in.

'It's my wife.' David said. 'I think that my she... isn't really my wife.'

From outside they heard that same familiar call from down the street. 'Bring out your dead.'

'What makes you say that?' The Wizard asked.

'Well, it's not that she looks any different... yet there's something off. Just this past evening we went to dinner, came home, fooled around a little and she barely hit me in the face at all.'

'What's so strange about tha-' The Wizard began. 

'She's a hunter.' David finished.

The Wizard paused. 'Bring out your dead.' The voice was closer this time. Perhaps just a couple doors down.

'That is... odd.' The Wizard said. 'But this confirms something I've been anticipating for a long time. Have you ever heard tell of... The Body Swipers?'

'Bring out your dead.' The voice sounded like it was just outside the door. Both men froze. After what seemed like an eternity, there was a knock at the door.

'Don't answer it.' David whispered. 'Maybe they'll just go away.'

'No, I think it'll be all right.' The Wizard said and went to see who was there. He'd barely opened the door a foot when a gaunt face forced it's way through the gap.

'Bring out your dead.' The ghastly apparition intoned. And while it's face was thin and stretched, it's arms and chest were enormous; it made Skeletor look like a 90-pound weakling.

'We don't have any dead here.' The Wizard said. 'Get lost.'

'Oh, but I think you do!' The Undertaker said and pushed the door the rest of the way open. It's hulking frame completely out of proportion with it's humble job.

David rose from his chair and was ready to fight. Perhaps he'd give The Wizard enough time to escape...

'No worries. I got this.' The Wizard said and held up an arm to keep David back. 'The balance change went in today you see.'

Then David saw it. For while the undertaker's upper torso was absurdly developed, it's legs were thin and scrawny.

'Swipe!' The Wizard said and brought his arm in a low arc. Magical claws tore through the air and ripped the undertaker's legs out from under him as easy you might tear a piece of paper in half.

'What? What's happening?' David asked a minute later as the two ran away down the alley.

'The meta.' The Wizard said. 'The meta is changing.'


	9. Where Everybody Knows Your Pain

9\. Where Everybody Knows Your Pain

 **This story is based upon and originally posted below the following YouTube video;**

 **Hearthstone: Trump Runs a Pub - Part 2 (Warrior Constructed)**

 **watch?v=gL-CjuLRDyA**

It was a quiet Thursday Afternoon at the Valuetowne Pub; a few gnomes, a pair of pirates, a berserker fresh off cashing his paycheck and Grommash Hellscream were the only customers. The banter, such as it was, proved quiet and reserved. Val slowly cleaned a stein as she surveyed the scene.

Her boss, the Wonderful Wizard of Valuetown, asked her long ago to look into the different ways of attracting business during off-hours and at first her inventor's mind had attacked the issue with gusto. But there were only so many automatic-serving-machine variants she could come up with before they started feeling like gimmicks. Mechs were all the rage a couple months back but now too many people were sick of them.

'Mind putting this on my tab?' A meek voice said, interrupting her thoughts. 'You know I'm good for it.'

'Yeah, fine Lenny.' Val replied. At another time she might have argued, but at the moment she felt too contemplative. And at least he hadn't used the old 'we gnomes gotta stick together' line. The day wore slowly on. The sun moved across the sky and the remaining customers drank and grumbled about the sad minutiae of their lives. Perhaps an hour had passed when Val looked down to notice she was still holding the same stein from earlier.

'I'll take a ginger ale,' a strangely elegant voice said 'and if you wouldn't mind adding some thumbtacks I'd be most appreciative.'

The man on the other side of the bar adorned himself with spiky black armor, immaculate facial hair and copious scars. After a moment's thought, Val realized he must be one of those pain-worshipers she'd heard about but had never seen in person.

'I'm sorry' she said 'I can't put anything dangerous in your drink, but how about a Death's Bite? It's the most powerful stuff we serve.'

'Oh, I don't normally go in for strong drink.' The man said. 'I don't want to dull the pain. But that name intrigues me so I'll give it a try.'

'They say it's made from distilled dragon's breath and molten arcanite.' She said, inventing the story on the fly. 'Never tried it myself, but I hear it's got a hell of a kick.'

'Oh thank you.' The man said. 'And I was wondering if you might help me. I'm only in town for a day; I'm going to the Emperor's birthday jubilee you see. And I'm wondering if you could point me towards the roughest part of town. I was hoping to get in a fight; it's been so long since I've gotten the crap properly kicked out of me.'

'Oh, well...' Val stammered. Suddenly her mind raced. She'd forgotten that the Emperor was having a birthday. That sounded like the perfect excuse for a promotion of some kind.

'I... give me one minute.' She said to the acolyte. Then she stood up on a stool and put on her best public-speaking voice.

'Attention everyone.' She began. 'This weekend is Emperor Thaurissan's birthday. In his honor I'd like to announce a special. For the next hour, I'm discounting everything on the menu by $1. Tell your friends!'

'EVERYONE GET IN HERE!' The response was so fast Val couldn't believe her eyes. Dwarves poured in the from the front entrance, climbed in through the windows and even came out from the restroom. An orc with an air of authority leapt onto a table and shouted for the dwarves to charge while pointing menacingly at the bar.

Val felt terrified at first, but soon she was so busy pouring drinks she forgot her fright. Soon, the pub echoed with praise for the Emperor and for The Wonderful Wizard as well as constant shouts for everyone else to get in here. Val called in extra serving ghouls and even brought out her best drink-pouring machine to help.

'May I say something.' The acolyte said. He hadn't spoken very loud yet somehow he had gotten everyone's attention. 'It is my personal opinion that the Emperor is OP, that Trump plays too much for value and that not everyone should get in here.'

There was a pause. Then the voice of a single dwarf punctuated the silence. 'HEH HEH! PILE ON!' Suddenly, the acolyte was engulfed by charging dwarves. In the instant before he disappeared completely from her view, Val saw that he was grinning broadly.

From the door a solitary, coweled figure watched and smiled. The Wonderful Wizard of Valuetown first opened the Pub because he thought it'd be profitable. He had no idea it'd be so much fun.


	10. I'm Your Best Nightmare

I̲'̲m̲ ̲Y̲o̲u̲r̲ ̲B̲e̲s̲t̲ ̲N̲i̲g̲h̲t̲m̲a̲r̲e̲

'Bah, scumbag!' Trump swore as he was approached by an emaciated Wrathguard holding a sign which read "Tired. Hungry. Veteran. What hurts me will come back to hurt you too."

Trump pushed past the sad figure. 'Winter Veil always brings out the beggars.' He thought. Even his own assistant, that spineless spider Bob Creeper, had been begging for more coal for the office fire. 'Doesn't he understand that coal is value?'

'Scumbag' Trump swore again as a bright blue beggar with a big brass bell turned his way and said 'for Nazjatar.' as she offered him a donation box.

Trump hurried along. The day was cold but it wasn't the weather that was getting to him. It was Winter Veil; that time of year when everyone seemed to think that charity and merrymaking were acceptable. Sometimes it felt like he was the only person in the whole world who understood the importance of value. He was known by many as The Wonderful Wizard of Valuetown, but despite the praise, he felt excluded. He felt very much alone.

And as he approached his home, Trump suddenly realized how alone he was. Just minutes before he had been surrounded by strangers in the market square, but as he looked around he noticed not a single soul. The realization sent a chill down his spine.

As he approached the door to his house, something seemed different. The simple wooden frame, cracked with age, looked the same as it always did, though he wasn't sure if he could tell. And the only adornment was the handle; carved to look like the head of that most value-oriented of minions; the imp. Trump closely scrutinized the face, growing confident that nothing was different. 'Scumbag' he said with confidence as he reached for the handle.

'Gah! Stop yelling!' The handle shrieked back at him; it's metal visage suddenly animated. Trump was so shocked that he violently threw the door open and ran upstairs to his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. He stood stock still for several seconds, catching his breath and listening. When suddenly he realized that his was not the only breathing he heard.

He looked to his right to see a small, green imp who was holding his hand. 'What are you doing here?' He asked as he shook free.

'You pulled me up here.' The imp replied. 'After you knocked me off my boss.'

Trump took a few seconds to sort through what had just happened.

'By the way.' The imp said. 'You're not hiring are you? Cause I could use a job and I thought-'

'No.' Trump said. 'Now get out.'

Nothing else strange happened as he ate dinner and went to bed, and the uneasy feelings from earlier slowly deserted Trump's mind. But as he went to extinguish the candle by his bedside; he heard a terrible wail coming from downstairs.

'Truuuuump.' The voice called. It sounded pained, and yet somehow... sarcastic.

'Who's there?' Trump called into the blackness. 'Truuuuuuuuump.' The voice called again and suddenly he could hear footsteps approaching the open door to his room. Then a hooded figure bearing great chains slowly came into view.

'What... who?' Trump said and then suddenly realized who it was. 'Gul'dan! My old friend and business partner! What are you doing here?'

'I'm here to warn you.' The Warlock said. 'You're obsessed with value. That is a mistake.'

'But you were the king of value in life!' Trump replied. 'No one could match your hero power.'

'Yes, and it was my folly.' Gul'dan said. 'I life-tapped my way to my own destruction. I stole the souls of others while neglecting my own. I ignored what was really important in life.'

'Oh great.' Trump said, annoyed. 'I bet you're going to tell me to give away my value and be all nice to poor folks. You can skip it, wraith!'

'Oh, nothing of the kind.' The Warlock said with a chuckle. 'I'm simply here to tell you about... tempo.'

'Tempo you say...' Trump said, suddenly curious. And over the next two hours, they discussed how to play quickly, how to use your mana for maximum impact and how to threaten the opponent's life while preserving just enough of your own.

'Well, you've convinced me!' Trump said with a smile. 'I'm going to stop hoarding value so much and put to work making tempo my friend!'

'What? I wasn't expecting to convince you so easily.' Gul'dan said. 'I even brought three other ghosts to help explain. Would you like to meet them?'

'I'm not sure that-' But Trump was cut off as a pair of apparitions sporting bright golden auras burst into the room.

'Don't worry lass, the ghost of tempo present is here!' One of them cried while the other, competing for effect, said 'a better understanding of strategy or death!'

Slowly, a third figure entered; a large demon with a sheepish expression. 'But you're a Fearsome Doomguard.' Trump said, puzzled. 'You don't bring a ton of tempo to the table.'

'They were going to get my less-fearsome brother.' The demon replied 'but he said something about it being a paltry task and flew away. Also DOOOOOOOM for you!'

The next morning, Trump felt energized as he never had before. He bought the largest chocolate-chip cookie in town and brought it to the home of his hard-working secretary, Bob Creeper. He invited all of his loyal minions to the ensuing feast and told them about how he had changed. 'I'm going to be more spendthrift than before' he announced 'but I'm also going to work the lot of you that much harder.' The response was mixed but mostly positive; who can argue with a giant chocolate-chip cookie?

In the years to come, Trump would go on to ever greater glories, becoming a master at constructed play to complement his arena and teaching accomplishments. But on that day in winter, it was the smallest guest, Tiny Tidehunter, who got the last word; 'God bless us; Mrglrglrgl.'

For more Hearthstories, go to s/11526853/1/Hearthstories


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